


Perfect Pitch

by Amorette



Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys
Genre: Gen, Original Character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 02:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4590345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amorette/pseuds/Amorette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes seeing yourself as other see you can be very enlightening.  Or terrifying.  Depends on which god turns up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Pitch

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think this has ever been posted on the internet beyond the old Golden Apple group. I usually not much for original characters but Aethus amused me so here he is.

Perfect Pitch  
by Amorette

I’m not sure what I did to tick Hercules off but he was plenty annoyed with me. Well, that’s not true. I know exactly what I did to annoy him but sometimes, he just needs to be taken down a notch and since I can’t do it physically, I just have to use what methods I can.

He’d been lecturing me again, on the usual subject, all about how I shouldn’t flirt with everyone I meet, how I shouldn’t be quite to so quick to jump into bed with a stranger. He was referring to a delightful young lady who turned out to be pledged to Artemis. I pointed out that if she was all that dedicated to her goddess, she wouldn’t have been so willing to jump into bed with me. Besides, I was definitely not the first man to sample her favors. She wasn’t fit to be virgin priestess long before I came along.

He just wouldn’t let it go. Everyone now and then, Hercules gets so sanctimonious, it makes me want to scream. I love him, I really do, and I can’t imagine any life besides the one the I have at his side but there are days when we really can’t stand the sight of each other and this was turning into one of those days.

He got snippy about my sex life. I got snippy about how what a hypocrite he can be, letting some poor woman he rescued get all convinced he loves her, not making it clear that he would rescue anyone, even one-eyed hag with no teeth. He has left more than few women pining away for him. At least I make it plain that I am only there for the moment, no matter how nice the moment was. Then we wandered off, the way we do when we are both getting a little sick of each other. Gods, it is embarrassing but we’re like an old married couple sometimes, dragging up arguments and insults from years ago. 

When we reached a crossroads, we didn’t even discuss it. I just went east and he went north and that was that. I knew we’d both wander back in the same direction in a week or so. I’d find him leaning casually against a tree or he’d find me sitting on a log to shake a rock out of my boot and all would be forgiven, until the next time we got on each other’s nerves.

The summer had been hot and dry, not enough to cause a severe drought but enough that I was very cautious when I built a fire. I built a very small one, in a circle of stones, in a clearing off the road, and started to roast a pigeon I had brought down with a sling when I heard someone singing.

And I mean singing! It was like nothing I had ever heard. I’m no musician. Herc thinks I can’t sing on key but I can, I just sing off-key to annoy him and his god-given perfect pitch. Beyond a basic ability to pretty much carry a tune, I know very little about music. This sound, however, was of a voice so perfect, so glorious, that I suspected I was hearing something inhuman singing. 

I considered trying to stop up my ears in case it was a siren but since I was several leagues from the ocean, I decided it was unnecessary. And while I was curious to see who was singing, I didn’t feel any mad compulsion to seek out the source of the voice.

The voice--and I wasn’t sure if it was a man or a woman--was singing a hymn in praise of Apollo. Personally, I’ve never been real fond of Apollo. I know, I like the sun as much as anyone and I can appreciate music and the arts and all the stuff he is in charge of but that doesn’t change the fact that he can be really snotty and an out-and-out bully, when he wants to. He has an even lower opinion of the average mortal than Ares and believe me, Ares doesn’t think much of people. I guess if you are an artist or something, Apollo can be pretty generous. But if you are just part of the rabble, you are dust beneath his golden heel. 

Still, this voice was singing this glorious song about how Apollo was so wonderful and inspiring and all that. I wondered if I was camping near a temple. With my relationship with Hercules, I make an especial effort to avoid temples of any kind. I don’t care which god the temple is dedicated to, I just avoid Herc’s relatives if at all possible. Even the ones that sort of like me can cause me plenty of trouble.

Carefully, I scuffed out my little fire and moved slowly in the direction of the voice. I’m a hunter and when I want to, I can move very, very quietly. It’s a talent that came naturally and a skill I have honed, both so I can eat meat regularly and to save my ass when necessary.

There was no moon, only the stars, and the sky was partly overcast, so it wasn’t easy to see where I was going. The advantage to that was nobody could see me too well, either, although I know my hair reflects the light something fierce. The forest was sparse, the undergrowth dry, and I wasn’t making great progress when the singing suddenly stopped.

Great, I thought, I am about to get whomped by Apollo. Maybe I should have just let Herc lecture me for half the night, then jumped his bones until he shut up on the subject. 

“So,” said the voice, which carried clearly even though the air was hot, “What do you think?”

A second voice answered, one I couldn’t make out.

“My thoughts exactly. If that song doesn’t make the bastard happy, nothing will. Do you think I should throw in some more praises to Apollo’s beauty or is it too much already?”

The second voice was still too indistinct for me to make out the reply but the tone conveyed the meaning even if I couldn’t understand the words. The answer made the singer laugh, a trilling sound that confused me. When the singer spoke, I thought it was the voice of a man, but when the singer laughed, it sounded like a woman. 

“You’re right! No god can have too much praise. Maybe I’ll add that verse about swooning in his presence that Glaysius wrote. It’s bad poetry but it is about as suck up a lyric as I have ever read.”

I found myself grinning. I had to meet this creature who sang so gloriously in honor of a god he obviously didn’t much care for. I intentionally made some noise as I walked, calling out a greeting as I approached two people sitting around a fire as small as the one I had made.

“Hello,” I said, holding up my hands in greeting and to show my sword hung on my back. “I heard you singing and I couldn’t help but come over and tell you how wonderful it was.”

Two people stood up. One was tall and slender, with dark hair framing a narrow face, wrapped closely in a dark cloak. The other was stocky, a grey-haired, grey-bearded old man.

“Greetings,” said the old man. I could make out the faint gleam of his eyes in the dark and I knew he was looking me over very carefully. “And thanks for the compliments. Aethus here is quite the singer, it’s true. I’m Pargos.”

“Iolaus,” I said, coming closer. Aethus is a man’s name and the person wrapped up in the cloak looked to be male, although young, perhaps not more than twenty.

“Iolaus.” Pargos said my name as carefully as he had looked at me. “The companion of Hercules?”

“Sometimes.” All right, I admit it, it was nice to occasionally encounter someone who actually knew that I had a name of my own. To a lot of people, I’m just the short blonde guy who travels with Hercules. “Right now, I’m on my own.”

Pargos extended his arm and I took it in a warrior’s grasp. He had solid muscles and now I saw a short sword resting next to the fire. He might be old enough to be grey but he was still strong. 

“It’s an honor to meet you,” he said solemnly and I admit it, I loved it. I decided I liked these guys a whole lot. No asking ‘where is Hercules’ and ‘when can I meet Hercules’ but just recognizing my name and honored to meet me. All right, I have an ego. Who doesn’t?

Aethus gestured to the fire. “Please, join us.” 

We sat. I was glad to accept the wineskin as it was passed to me, even happier when I tasted its contents. Pargos offered me a bowl of lamb stew from their pot and I excepted it even more eagerly. 

“So,” I said, swallowing my first mouthful. I was raised with some manners, although I don’t always use them. “Where are you bound for?” I asked even though I had a pretty good suspicion. We were only a dozen leagues out side of Sicyon. The city itself wasn’t large but there was a major temple to Apollo, built above a large ampitheatre. I’d never been there but I heard about them.

“The Apollion.” Aethus answered with the name of the theater and temple complex. “There is a big festival coming up. I am singing.”

I hadn’t heard about a festival but I liked the sound of it. I like festivals. I can usually find good food and good company at festivals. Hercules isn’t nearly as sociable as I am. He can go for ages without seeing another human face and not care but, as much as I enjoy the solitude of the forest, I enjoy coming to the city to see other people.

“Any particular occasion?” I asked, accepting another swallow from the wineskin. “For the festival?” I’m not a religious man, in spite of being best friend’s with the son of the King of the Gods, so I’m not very well-versed in all the dates of feasts and that sort of thing. Maybe because I have actually seen and spoken to gods face to face, I don’t feel any need to get involved in organized worship.

Aethus answered. When he spoke, he had a pleasant, tenor voice but nothing about it gave a hint of what came from that throat when he sang. “I guess it’s in memory of some king or another, I forget.”

Pargos cleared his throat. “It’s the one hundred and tenth anniversary of the victory of King Helles over the Macedonians. King Helles built the temple and ampitheatre in gratitude to Apollo for his help.”

“Oh.” Even in the firelight, I could see the flash of Aethus’ teeth. 

“What was Apollo doing helping?” Both men turned to look at me. Like I said, I don’t like Apollo much. “I mean, isn’t war sort of Ares’ territory?”

“Yes.” Pargos’ voice sounded patient and I was glad it was dark enough that my blush wasn’t obvious. He sounded exactly like a teacher of mine from back in my Academy days. “But Ares supported Macedonia. Sicyon has always been dedicated to Apollo.”

“Oh.”

“Not a devout man, are you, Iolaus friend of Hercules?” Aethus’ voice sounded gently mocking but I sensed there was no malice in it.

“No,” I admitted. “I have seen too many gods close up.”

“Me, too.” Aethus sighed. “They are glorious to gaze upon but I can’t say I enjoy their company. Apollo can be very rude. Hermes is nice, though. I performed for some games dedicated to him once and he was very complimentary. Sent me some gifts. What was it again, Pargo?”

Pargos grunted, “He’s god of flutes. He sent you that set of flutes.”

“Oh, right. Wonder what ever happened to them.” Aethus sighed. “I travel so much, I can’t have many belongings. So many things get left behind.”

“I know the feeling.” Boy, did I. There was a moment of silence, as if all three of us were thinking about things we had left behind before Pargos cleared his throat.

“Are you heading towards Sicyon? We’d be happy to have your company if you are.”

There. They had to ask me to join them. My asking them would be impolite. Like I said. I have manners. Just don’t have much occasion to use them.

“I’d be honored to travel with you,” I replied. I didn’t add, and with your larder. I could see the pack horse they had hobbled a short distance away. They didn’t have to stalk dinner on an empty stomach.

"Perhaps," said Pargos, handing me some bread, "you can tell us some of your adventures."

"Yes." Aethus sounded genuinely enthused. "We can always use new stories to turn into songs. I hate singing the same things all the time. Tell us some tale, friend Iolaus, so Pargos can write a ballad about it."

I wasn't sure if Aethus was being sarcastic or not. If he was, I decided it wasn't worth it take offense. Not with a pot of rich lamb stew and a skin of fine wine to smooth over any insult. 

"I'd be happy to, " I replied.

Turns out Aethus wasn't being sarcastic. Pargos actually got a parchment and quill out of his bag. The old man was really did write songs. As we talked around that slowly dying fire, I found out he wrote a couple of songs that were favorites of mine. Aethus even sang one for me and again, I was amazed at that voice.

Then, in my ordinary voice, I told a story about a little adventure Herc and I had had a few months back involving a bunch of satyrs that turned out to be some men in disguise, just looking for an excuse to mistreat some women. Pargos actually leaned close to the glowing embers so he could make notes. Then I told another story about some monsters we'd faced and he made notes about that, too. 

Then, after my two stories and Aethus' song, we were tired and curled around the firepit to sleep. Sometimes, when I'm on my own, I have trouble sleeping. Not tonight. I fell asleep even as I listened to Aethus and Pargo whispering rhymes to each other, already working on a song about Hercules, Iolaus and some fake satyrs.

I woke up, remembered where I was and who I was with, and fell back asleep. I'm like that. I don't like to get up early in the morning but I like to make sure that I am safe before I fall back asleep. Hercules, on the other hand, likes to bounce up at the first light of dawn. I love the guy but I hate that habit. Neither Aethus nor Pargos seemed to be early risers, either. I was actually sitting up and yawning before either of them.

After a quick trip to the bushes, I found myself standing next to Aethus as he heated water for tea. I stared at him, surprised. Last night, I had marked him as young, although I couldn't really say why. In the harsh light of morning, I could see the grey hairs in his long braid and the fine lines around his eyes. He had to be nearly as old as I was. Then it registered. Why he had the smooth cheeks and slender musculature of a youth, even though he was a man. Why his voice had such an incredible range. 

I had heard of the boy singers castrated to preserve their voices but I had never seen one before. 

Aethus turned his dark eyes to mine and I blushed, embarrassed to have been caught staring. If it bothered him, he gave no sign of it. I also noticed something else I hadn't seen in the dark. On his right cheekbone, just below the edge of his eye, was a golden sun mark, not a tattoo but the metallic looking mark that only the god himself placed on his chosen.

As a boy, Aethus had been offered to Apollo as a living sacrifice. The thought made me shudder and I stepped away from him.

"Bread?" 

Pargos was close at hand. Neither man showed any sign of noticing my discomfort. I accepted the bread and sat to eat it.

"I was ten," said Aethus suddenly, as if he was picking up a conversation we had already started. "I was pledged to Apollo for twenty-five years." His hand touched the mark on his cheek. "In two days, that time will be up and I am going to ask the god to release me. As I understand it, he will have to. Some sort of rules even gods have to obey. He cannot keep someone pledged who asks to be released when the time comes due."

That answered several questions. He was only a few years younger than I was. He was a castrated singer in Apollo's service. And he wanted out of the job. I wondered, idly, if the god could give him back what was taken when the pledge was first made. I doubted it.

After breakfast, we walked along the road back towards Sicyon. Pargos trailed behind Aethus and I, leading the horse. There was something about Aethus that I quickly forgot my discomfort. For one thing, he was funny. He did a couple of dead on impersonations of Apollo and Hermes that had me laughing. It occurred to me it was a good thing he was under Apollo's personal protection or some god might have blasted him to dust for the jokes he told. He really did know Apollo and he really didn't like him.

"I know," he said as I gasped at one remark. "I should be grateful. I've had quite a life, traveling all over Greece, to Egypt and Mesopotamia and wherever, welcomed into the courts of kings, honored and feted almost like a god myself. I've lived very well, thank you, as a servant of Apollo but. . ." He sighed. "I'd like to be able to make a few decisions about my own life."

It was Pargos who said, from behind us, "And what would your first decision be?"

Aethus laughed and drew his dagger from his belt. It was a small personal dagger, such as any one carried to cut meat or some other useful task, not a warrior's knife, like I carried. It was also very well-made, with gold wire woven around the hilt. I have no doubt it was worth more coin than everything I owned. Holding that dagger in one, long-fingered hand, he snatched his braid from where it hung down his back nearly to his waist and made a slicing gesture across it.

"Cut my hair." He tossed the braid back over his shoulder as he slid the dagger back into its sheath.

At my puzzled expression, Aethus laughed and explained. "About fifteen years ago, I was in Egypt. I don't know if you've ever been there but it is hot! I got my hair cut short, almost shaved off in fact. The day I landed back in Greece, I had barely stepped off the boat when Apollo popped in and informed me that I wasn't to do that again." He shook his head. "I have no idea why. I assumed he wanted me for more than my voice, if you know what I mean." He raised his eyebrows suggestively. I nodded. I knew exactly what he meant. "I know the gods take mortal lovers and in those days, I was a little more reverent in my attitude."

Behind us, Pargos snorted. The man could express a whole sentence in a single sound. Aethus grinned, winking at me.

"And I was curious. I mean, getting fucked by god must be. . .amazing."

Another snort from Pargos, expressing a different opinion this time. 

"But, I never found out." He touched the golden sun emblem glinting on his cheekbone. "Except for the one time he touched me to put his mark on me, he's never so much as laid a hand on me. I've never been sure if he made me grow my hair out just to prove his power over me or if he really cares how I look. But it's hot, it takes forever to wash and now with the end of the braid dark and the bit on my head half white, it looks stupid."

"Then what?" asked Pargos, "after you visit a barber."

"Ah, that is the question, isn't it?" That almost mocking smile that seemed to be Aethus' permanent expression faded. "I don't know what I'll do. I've never had the option to make my own way. " He fixed me with an intent stare. I noticed how dark his eyes were, with a slight upward tilt at the corners. His eyes were as dark as Ares'. 

"Friend Iolaus, do you have a place you call home?"

The question startled me so much that I know my own pale blue eyes widened in surprise. "Ah, sure. I mean, I have a house and a forge back in Thebes--the village outside of Corinth, not the city. I don't get back there very often but it is mine."

"Ah. Well, I don't. I grew up in lots of places, palaces and temples. None of them count as home to me. The only place I consider close to home was burned at the beginning of the civil wars in Menekos."

I hadn't known where he was from, until that moment. Menekos was a series of islands separate from the Greek mainland, ruled by a family that practiced polygamy. The last king had died a few years before and two sons had promptly gone to war over the succession. The eldest was the son of a lower-ranking wife while the son of the highest-ranking wife was only a boy. To the best of my knowledge, the islands were still divided among several of the sons and no one claimed to rule the whole. If I were from Menekos, I would probably find a way to avoid going back there myself.

Aethus continued speaking. "I might build a home somewhere."

"Ah," grunted Pargos, "Where is the question?"

"True. I like the bustle of the city and I have considered Athens but then I think, no, I've spent too much time among crowds. Perhaps I should become a hermit on some cave by the seashore. What do you think?"

He looked at me with a sideways tilt of his head. 

"I couldn't live in Athens," was my not very intelligent reply. This whole conversation had me a little confused. "And I couldn't be a hermit."

Aethus slapped me on the shoulder as he laughed. "No, friend Iolaus, you don't strike me as the hermit type."

"Neither do you," I countered.

Pargos snorted again.

"I do know I will never sing another chorus of 'Oh, Glorious Phoebus Apollo,' I don't know how many times I have sung that damned song but I will never, ever, after tomorrow night, sing it again." His voice sounded as if he were swearing a blood oath but he was still smiling. I was finding Aethus to be a rather disconcerting companion. 

"In fact," he continued, drawing deep breath, "from now on, I only sing lewd songs!"

As he made that declaration, he burst into song, choosing an extremely lewd song about the ten virgins, the goat herd and the ram. Normally, the song was meant to be sung as a response duet of a man and woman but with his amazing voice, Aethus sang both parts. After a few verses, Pargos added his rough baritone to the chorus. After a few more, I started singing along, too. 

I knew most of the song but Aethus seemed to know a few variations and extra verses I hadn't heard before. He was in the middle of another chorus when he stopped walking and singing and fixed those intense dark eyes on me. I stumbled and my voice faded away. 

"Do that again." 

"Huh?"

"Sing that again."

I had blushed more in the last half day in his presence than I had in the past year. 

"Sorry," I muttered. "I know my voice isn't much. . ."

Aethus was walking around behind me. "Actually, it's not bad. Sing that chorus again."

Surprised, I drew a shaky breath and started to sing. I hadn't got more than a few words out when Aethus stepped up close behind me and slid his hands under my waistcoat. I must have jumped six feet to the side and had my hand on the hilt of my dagger when Pargos laughed.

"He's not trying to have his way with you," the older man assured me, pushing me back towards his companion. "He's just trying to determine how you breath."

"How I breath? Through my nose most of the time." Damnit, I hated that flush in my face.

As he had the morning, when I moved away from as soon as I realized what he was, Aethus ignored my response. He just came up behind me again and slid his warm, smooth hands around my ribcage.

"Sing," he commanded. Embarrassed, I did my best. I got out about half the chorus when he pressed his hands up under my ribs. He may have been built like a boy, with a woman's hands, but he had a surprisingly strong grip. I gasped but couldn't escape him without looking like a complete fool. 

He rested his chin on my shoulder, peering over at my chest. I found the whole thing very odd but his totally impersonal behavior made me tolerate the contact.

"Breathe in, very slowly, filling your lungs as much as you can."

I did as instructed, feeling his hands slide up under my arms and down again. A couple of peasants pulling a cart full of grain sacks gave us very peculiar looks as they walked past. I suspect if Pargos and I weren't both carrying swords, they would have laughed out loud.

For the next several minutes, Aethus and I stood there in the middle of the main road to Sicyon while he made me inhale and exhale until I was dizzy. Then he started giving me suggestions on how to breathe. I tried to explain that I was very good at breathing, had been doing it on a regular basis for nigh on forty years and could even slow my heartbeat and breathing down enough that I could stay underwater for much longer than most people but he just gave me a sharp jab in the ribs.

"That's not the kind of breathing I'm talking about. Now pay attention."

If Pargos hadn't been watching us with such a solemn expression on his face, I would have told Aethus where to get off but Pargos seemed to be impressed. By my breathing techniques or by Aethus taking the time to teach me, I wasn't sure. So I just gave up. Sometimes the situation carries you away.

Using the pressure of his hands to illustrate what he wanted me to do, Aethus showed me a different way to control my breathing, not to keep me alive but to help me sing. Then he moved up to my throat, had me sing a few notes and gave me a few more pointers. When he finished, he stood back, his arms folded across his chest in a manner that reminded me slightly of Ares, and nodded.

"Now," he said firmly. "Sing and remember what I showed you."

I blinked, concentrated and promptly surprised myself. Stunned even. Taking his advice, a powerful, clear voice emerged from my throat. I got out two words and stopped, staring at Aethus, who was grinning again.

"Doesn't take much, does it?"

I shook my head. It had taken me a year to learn how to slow down my heartbeat and respiration. It had taken Aethus a matter of minutes to teach me how to sing.

"Now," the singer said cheerfully, "where were we? Oh, yes." He picked up with another rude verse and the three of of started walking down the road, singing up a storm.

When we arrived at the city gates, we parted company, since Aethus and Pargos were going to stay in the temple enclosure. Pargos gave me a pass that would grant me admittance to Aethus' concert and convinced me I had to attend. I agreed, then went to a inn I knew, run by a pair of widowed sisters, who weren't much to look at but made up for that in the dark.

On the afternoon of the concert, I bathed and shaved and put on clean clothes. The sisters had had their servants give my travel-stained gear a desperately needed cleaning and mending while I kept their mistresses occupied. I had considered not attending the concert and spending more time with the sisters but they were both breathless with excitement at the thought that someone they knew had been invited.

They assured me it was the social event of the season and had they not still officially been in mourning for their most recent late husbands--I liked bedding the sisters but considering the number of husbands they had buried between them, I'd take on a hydra single-handed before I would consider marrying either one--they would have put on their best gowns and attended.

Normally, I don't pay much attention to how I dress, which is probably obvious to anyone who has ever seen the way I dress. That afternoon, as I walked toward the amphitheater, I started to feel self-conscious about my clothes. I've attended formal court functions. I can make myself look respectable enough to be seen sitting at a king's table. For the first time in a very long time, I found myself wishing I had better clothes to wear. 

Everyone around me was in their finest. I saw the glint of jewels and gold, heard the swish of fine silks, saw linen and wool woven and dyed into elegant robes. I pulled my faded, patched purple waistcoat close around my shoulders as the crowd drew close to enter the amphitheatre.

The attendant at the gate looked down his nose at me. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have been insulted, but I felt pretty shabby and insignificant in that crowd. He glanced at my pass, then did a double take, his lips parting in surprise. I had started up the stairs towards the cheap seats, where I usually sat on those rare occasions I attended the theatre, and nearly twisted my ankle as liveried servant materialized by my side and gently directed me towards one of the boxes.

The king and queen of Sicyon and their court occupied two of the boxes. The others were filled with finely dressed dignitaries and nobleman, except for one box, draped in gold cloth. Pargos sat there, alone. The servant lead me to the box and bowed deeply as I entered.

There were padded seats in the box, not the backside-numbing stone I was used to. Between the two chairs was a table set with wine goblets and a tray of delicacies. 

"Hardly fit food for a warrior," grunted Pargos, who was dressed the same as he had been when I saw him the day before, save, like me, he was cleaner.

I would have agreed had I not been stuffing a thin cutlet of lamb rolled around olive paste into my mouth. I sat gently down on the seat and looked around.

The theater wasn't large, the theater at Corinth was bigger, but it was the fanciest I had ever seen. There were gilded statues and painted columns everywhere. Even the cheap seats up at the back, just in front of the porch of the temple that faced the stage, had swags of grape vines carved on the fronts and ornate lanterns hanging by the steps so that even the poorest ticket holder could find his seat without tripping. Having nearly broken my neck once attending a night performance in Athens, I appreciated that touch.

Everyone in the place was dressed in their most elaborate clothes. I sank down in my seat, wishing I weren't sitting in quite such an obvious spot. Pargos didn't seem to care. He sat stiffly beside me, his eyes scanning the audience. 

Every now and then, he'd nod at someone. A couple of times, he leaned over, whispering to me through lips that never moved, telling me how such and such noble was actually deaf and was only there to be seen or that the wife of so-and-so was actually his own daughter by an earlier mistress, all sorts of fascinating gossip. Traveling the way I do, I don't get to hear tidbits like that very often and I have to admit, even if the person being discussed is a stranger, I like hearing that the rich and famous are just as hopeless as the rest of us.

I was exchanging suggestive looks with a pretty woman across the way from me, the servant of some member of the royal house, when Pargos gave me a sharp jab in the ribs. A servant had startled me a moment before by replacing the plate of food so silently that I hadn't noticed him until he was practically at my elbow. Now Pargos' jab nearly raised me out of my seat.

"It's starting," he hissed. "Antichos thinks he is a great orator. Don't laugh when he lisps. He has a vile temper and a nasty personal guard."

Antichos, I assumed, was the fat man with the curled beard who had appeared on the stage. I ignored him, concentrating on my flirtation with the woman across from me. He did have a lisp and he wasn't an orator. He babbled on about what an honor it was to have Aethus here to present his anniversary concert and how pleased Apollo would be by the concert and the generous donations the city fathers were making to the temple. 

I leaned over and whispered to Pargos. "Nobody knows this is his farewell concert, do they?"

Pargos winked without smiling and gave me a silent toast with his cup. "Should cause quite a stir," he said. I really was impressed with his ability to talk without moving his lips.

When the speaker finished, an orchestra moved into position, then two rows of a chorus, everyone dressed in traditional long white chitons. The chorus looked to be made up half of men and half of boys. I wondered, idly, if any of those boys were facing what Aethus had faced.

Then a curtain at the rear of the stage was pulled back and Aethus stepped out. He wore a gold-colored, knee-length chiton with half sleeves over a pair of white trousers. His long, dark hair was loose, spreading over his shoulders and down his back, held off his face by a circlet of gold. I could see why Apollo wanted him to keep his hair long. It really looked very dramatic.

For a few more minutes, we suffered through the boring ritual that goes with these sorts of events. The king made an introductory speech. The head priest of the temple said a few words. I stifled some yawns. Spending the night with the sisters meant I hadn't gotten much sleep. 

Then the orchestra struck a chord, Aethus spread his arms and the concert began. 

The audience, unlike the audience at some events I have attended, fell completely silent. Even the woman across from me was staring down at the singer on the stage. Having heard Aethus sing, I wasn't overly impressed by his opening number but I knew he was a performer and was building up to something more spectacular. He sang a standard hymn to the glory of Zeus, which raised my hackles a little. I don't like Zeus any more than Apollo or Ares. Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Artemis, I'm willing to give them the occasional thanks but I haven't got much need to sing the praises of the rest of them.

Still, it was a nice song, well done. Both the orchestra and the chorus were good. I drank some more of the very fine wine, finished off most of the second plate of food and sank back into my comfortable seat.

Aethus accepted the polite applause, sharing them with the other performers by a gracious gesture of his hand. Then he sang another song, this one all about how nice Greece was in general, scenery and grapes and olives and all that. Again, nothing grand but pleasant to listen to, nonetheless. The sneaky servant came creeping up behind me again but I was keeping an eye out for him. He swapped plates and gave us a fresh amphora of wine. I was a happy man.

Then the chorus stepped back a pace and Aethus stepped forward. I could feel the entire audience sit up straight, suddenly very attentive. Aethus drew a deep breath launched into "Oh, Glorious Phoebus Apollo." I would have laughed, knowing his opinion of the song, had his voice not been so beautiful. I had heard him singing a little in practice and walking along a road but I hadn't heard him in a theatre, with an orchestra, giving his all. The soaring sound nearly took my breath away.

I became aware of Pargos smiling at me and I managed an embarrassed smile back. When Aethus finished, I was on my feet with the rest of them, applauding until my palms stung.

Aethus bowed a couple of times, then silenced us with a gesture. He had that crowd under his spell, me along with the rest.

"Thank you for your kindness," he said, managing to look humble, even dressed all in gold, "Tonight, in honor my twenty-fifth anniversary of my pledge to Apollo, I would like to sing a new song written for me just recently."

The audience went wild. I wasn't up on this sort of thing but from the reaction of the crowd around me, this was a big deal. I suppose if I attended a lot of concerts, I could get tired of the same old things sung over and over. I applauded politely, noticing that Pargos had set down his wine cup and was leaning forward, his arms resting on the edge of our box.

I admit that I am not the sharpest knife in the box but I am not an idiot. Still, it took me a minute to realize what Aethus was singing about for two reasons. The first was, I wasn't expecting it. The second was the way he pronounced the names. He started singing a song about "Noble Heracles" and his "beloved companion, most honored of mortal men," then said a name that was pronounced with four syllables, with the accent on the third syllable. So it took me a minute to realize he was singing about Herc and me!

I did realize why he pronounced our names wrong. Aside from making the song more about sort of legendary creatures rather than just two people, one of whom was sitting in a box, stuffing himself on grape leaves and honey cakes, the other pronunciations fit the rhyme and meter of the song much better.

The song was a poetic version about the time that bastard Demetrius tried to kill Herc and sacrifice Alcmene to Echidna. The details, like the names, weren't completely accurate but it hardly mattered. The song itself was incredible and the voice that was singing it truly sounded like something from the gods.

By the time Aethus got to me helping an injured Herc go after his mother, most of the audience was in tears. I didn't realize I was crying myself until I noticed my nose dripping on my arm. I tried to surreptitiously wipe my nose on the hem of my nice clean waistcoat, hoping Pargos, who was dry-eyed, didn't notice.

Between the words and the voice, that incredible, powerful voice, everyone was being swept away with emotion, except old Pargos, who'd no doubt heard the song a dozen times before. Aethus could drop his voice to a near whisper that was still clearly audible, make it sob in agony and then soar in triumph. He sang of the bond between the heroes, stronger than death, stronger than eternity. He sang of pain shared and borne, of hope and healing, created by that bond. He sang of love.

I suddenly had an urge to go find Hercules and apologize for every stupid, selfish thing I had ever done. I desperately wanted to be with him, to share the swelling emotion in my heart with him, to look into his eyes, to feel his arms around me. If I hadn't been nearly hypnotized by Aethus, I would have turned and sprinted out of the box in search of my partner.

How could we stand to be apart? Listening to Aethus sing made me feel like an idiot for not understanding what an amazing relationship I had with Hercules. If I had been thinking clearly, it would have dawned on me that the song wasn't mentioning those days when Herc was an out-and-out pain in the ass and we got on each other nerves but how could anyone think clearly with that voice ringing in your ears?

As the song ended, I was on my feet, screaming hoarsely with the rest of them, Aethus just a golden blotch seen through my tear-filled eyes.

I don't know how long we all stood there, applauding furiously and calling out our praises but it was quite a while. I finally wiped my eyes and got a good clear look at him. Aethus just stood there, nodding his head graciously, looking a little embarrassed by all the excitement. He caught my gaze and gave me a quick grin. I wanted to smack him and hug him at the same time.

When the audience finally quieted, Aethus thanked everyone for their compliments. Then the chorus moved forward and they sang another couple of songs, although nothing as impressive as his ode to Herc and I. Partway through a ballad about the birth of Apollo and Artemis, I leaned over and asked Pargos if he wrote the song about us.

He nodded, looking discomforted. "I wrote it months ago," he admitted, his mouth so close to my ear, his beard tickled. "I didn't know Aethus was planning on singing it tonight. I hope you're not offended."

Offended? I've never been so flattered in my whole life. The guy in that song was one heck of a hero, noble and brave and all that. He probably didn't have to loosen his belt a notch because he had been eating too much, either. Just made me wish I was more like the guy in the song and I resolved to try to be.

The evening drew to a close. My hands ached from clapping so much. My stomach ached from eating so much. That damned servant never let that plate get empty. I missed Hercules and decided that first thing in the morning--well, I was still staying with the sisters so I wouldn't be getting out of bed early, more like first thing after lunch--I'd go find Herc and apologize, even if I still think he was wrong.

Aethus stepped forward. The crowd fell silent.

"Tonight," he announced. "marks twenty-five years that I have served Apollo, singing in his honor. I have been blessed and honored to be his servant all these years. . ."

Pargos snorted.

". . .but the time has come for me to ask my release that I may retire to quiet contemplation."

Everyone in the audience, except Pargos and me, leapt to their feet, shouting "No." Aethus silenced them again with that perfect control of his. He smiled sadly. "My voice is not what it used to be," he said, sounding tragic. Pargos snorted again. "And I feel the weight of my years. The time has come to pass the torch to another. I am sure that in a temple somewhere, as dedicated as I once was, another young man labors and soon, it will be his praises that you sing while I am deservedly forgotten."

As speeches go, it was pretty nauseating, but the crowd loved it. They kept hollering at him that he was irreplaceable, that no one could ever hope to match his brilliance, all sorts of stuff. Aethus let it go on for a while but I noticed he really didn't look like he was enjoying it. He looked, genuinely, tired. He quieted them again.

"We are but mortal," he said. "Only the gods are eternal." Then he started to sing again as he walked slowly through the orchestra pit and up the stairs that divided the amphitheater in half and led to the temple above.

He was singing the song I had first heard, by the campfire. As he walked past our box, he started a truly revolting verse about swooning from the impact of Apollo's beauty. Pargos and I shared a quick look. Aethus had been right in describing it as bad poetry but a great suck-up.

When he reached the porch of the temple, everyone in the amphitheatre was turned around, watching him. There were torches and braziers along the porch, catching the glint of the golden circlet in his hair. He spread his arms and, even though his back was to everyone listening, his voice was still audible.

"Oh, great Apollo," he began, "Hear me, your humble servant."

Apparently, Apollo heard. There was a flash of golden light, blinding in the dusk, and a sound like a hundred cymbals being rung together, and the God of Light and Music, among other things, was standing there. He was in his impressive mode, not his obnoxious one, all in long golden robes and a crown of light in his hair. There was a chorus of gasps from around me. Unlike me, most people don't see the gods in person much. Me, I see them way more than I want to.

I have to admit, Apollo in person is something. All the gods are. Incredible beauty aside, unless a god makes an effort to conceal it, the gods sort of radiate their divine nature, this sense of power and otherworldliness, almost like the fragrance of a rose. Even Hercules, with his mortal half, puts a little of that sense off. Apollo was pouring it on tonight. 

"Beloved Aethus," Apollo started to say, his voice echoing in my ears.

That was all he said. Then there was a second flash of light, more blue than gold, and no cymbals. Just Ares.

I'm not sure it's a good thing for mere mortals to see two gods together. Makes your eyes hurt and your brain burn. Ares is mean, vicious and dangerous but he is also beautiful. Golden Apollo and dark Ares, all in black leather, his long curling hair black as night, his hand resting casually on the hilt of the Sword of War, stared at each other. I couldn't tell for certain but I had the distinct feeling that Apollo was as surprised to see his half brother as the rest of us.

Unlike Apollo, Ares wasn't trying to impress anyone. He was just there, his presence adequate to make most people quail. I've seen grown men wet themselves when Ares come down on them in full glowering rage. Tonight, though, he seemed to be downright cheerful.

Now that is the thing about Ares that really mystifies me. He is terrifying, deadly, and the worst thing that ever happened to mankind but, in spite of that, he can be full of smiles and hardy good cheer. He has a big, wide toothy grin and this deep, belly laugh that keep me from hating him as intensely as I want to. I just have this weird feeling, which I have never expressed to Hercules or anyone else, that, if you could somehow catch him at the right moment, when he wasn't planning death or destruction or trying to overthrow his father or destroy his half mortal brother, he would probably be great company. 

"Hello, brother," he said, his voice sounding pleased and happy. When the God of War sounds pleased and happy, it's time to lay low.

Poor Aethus had half turned away from his patron to look at Ares. While he was used to being around gods, I don't think he'd ever sung a concert for Ares. 

Apollo actually seemed to be unable to come up with anything to say. As bizarre and even frightening as the moment was, I have to admit I rather liked knowing that I had been one of the rare mortals to ever see the god of poetry and prophecy at a loss for words. Like I said, I was never very fond of Apollo.

Ares wasn't much for conversation. He reached out with the arm that wasn't holding the Sword of War, yanked a startled Aethus close to him, and vanished, taking his captive with him. 

For a stunned heartbeat, nothing happened. No one moved. No one breathed. Even Apollo stood there with a stupefied look on his handsome face. Then he tilted his head back and screamed at the night sky.

"Ares!"

The sound was deafening without being loud. Everyone in the place winced, most of us clapping our hands over our ears, our eyes squeezing shut in reaction to the ringing in our heads. When we opened our eyes, Apollo was gone, too.

I turned to Pargos. The look on his face was as astonished as I felt. His eyes were wide and his mouth was actually hanging open in shock. His trembling hand reached out and grabbed my arm, hard enough to hurt.

"What happened?" he gasped.

I didn't answer, since it was pretty obvious what happened. Ares kidnapped Aethus. The questions I couldn't answer were where was he taking him, how could I rescue my new friend from an old enemy and why in the name of all the gods did Ares do what he just did.

I did have one clear thought as the crowd broke into a panicked rush of shouts and curses as everyone tried to exit the amphitheatre as quickly as possible. I had to find Hercules. I had to find Hercules and get his help in rescuing Aethus from whatever mischief Ares had in mind.

"Pargos. Pargos!" I shook his hand free of my arm. His jaw snapped shut and the hard eyes of the old soldier he was came back into focus. "I've got to find Hercules. Then we need to find out where Ares took Aethus."

"Probably back to Menekos." I could see Pargos was thinking through what had just happened.

"Why? Why would Ares take Aethus there?"

"Because Aethus is a prince of the royal house and Ares is enjoying the civil war that has kept peace away from my homeland for half a dozen years. I think Ares must have some scheme to use Aethus to keep the war going."

Now there was something I hadn't expected. I was surprised to know that a king had allowed his son to be gelded. Then again, as I understood it, the old king had sons to spare.

I formulated what passed for a plan. Pargos, for lack of any better idea, quickly agreed to it. He would head for the docks and try to find transport to Menekos. I would try to find Hercules. If I wasn't back with help by dawn, Pargos would start for home and, with luck, Herc and I could catch up with him as soon as possible.

There may have been a thousand people trying to get out of the same space as I was but I'm small, fast, determined and stronger than I look. I was free of the crowd before Pargos.

If Hercules turned north at the crossroads, then he might even be here in Sicyon. Aethus, Pargos and I had double backed on my original course somewhat, although we took a different road into the city. If he were in Sicyon, where would he be? And if he weren't, the same question applied.

I headed first for the tavern of the two sisters. Fortunately, they were busy with customers so I was able to sneak into my room and grab my sword and other gear without being seen. I wasn't in the mood to waste time explaining what had happened at the theater. All I did was give the main room a quick glance before heading out when I saw, back to me, a tall, broad-shouldered man with light brown hair streaked golden by the sun, surrounded by an admiring crowd.

Ares might not want me to follow but apparently some other gods were on my side. I ducked inside, poked Hercules in the ribs and gave my head a twitch, indicating he should follow me outside. He managed a graceful exit, being polite as he simply strode through the crowd around him. Who in their right mind would get in the way of the son of Zeus?

"I thought I might find you here," he said, sounding disapproving and glad to see me all at the same time. "The sisters said you were at a concert. . ." His voice trailed off. I was already walking quickly towards the docks. "What happened?"

I gave him a short version of the events of the last two days, from my meeting Aethus and Pargos to what had happened just a few minutes before.

"Ares?" Hercules sounded baffled. "Ares grabbed Aethus from right in front of Apollo? Why on earth. . ."

"Pargos thinks it's because Aethus is a prince. He thinks one side or another of the factions fighting for the throne of Menekos wants to use Aethus' royal status to garner support for their side."

Hercules frowned and I knew what he was thinking. What would be the point of crowning a eunuch as king? Maybe they just wanted him to be a regent. Pargos had said one of the factions supported a prince who was fairly young. Whatever the reason, I was determined to try to save Aethus from Ares' plans.

I think Hercules was puzzled by my determination but he didn't question it. He hadn't been there when Aethus sang that song about the bond between the two heroes. I figured, for that reason alone, I owed Aethus to at least attempt a rescue.

When we got to the docks, we discovered Pargos had been successful. The fishing around the outer banks of Menekos was excellent, especially since the native fisherman were mostly caught up in the civil wars, so Pargos had gotten us passage on a shallow-draft fishing boat. The owner of the fishing boat had been delighted to earn a few extra dinars transporting three strangers to Menekos. 

While the fisherman and his two crewmen set sail, Pargos, Hercules and I crouched in the narrow bow of the boat, between racks holding nets. Pargos drew a quick sketch of the islands on the decking with a bit of burnt stick. I paid attention to the map but let my mind wander while Pargos explained the complicated relationships of the warring factions. I knew Hercules would keep track of all that if it turned out to be important.

When Pargos finished his lecture, Hercules sat back as best he could in tight space, shaking his head.

"I heard him sing once," he said, surprising me. I could see his face in the light thrown by the lantern hanging off the bow. 

"You did?" I tried not to sound astonished. I couldn't remember ever hearing anyone like Aethus before. "When?"

"Oh, a long time ago. Jason was still king and I went to Corinth to help negotiate a treaty with the Parnassians."

Oh. I remember when he went. It had been years ago, during a time in my life when I wasn't Hercules' partner but had a life of my own to lead, a time I didn't like to think about. 

Hercules was still talking, although I was a bit lost in old memories. "He sang for us a couple of times but actually, he was there as a neutral party in the negotiations."

"Aethus?" My voice sounded so stupid I was embarrassed. I had heard of renowned actors and poets acting as go-betweens in times of strife, traveling under banners of neutrality, but I had never heard of singer doing that. Then again, Aethus was hardly an ordinary singer. And, I kept reminding myself, he was royalty.

"Aethus." Hercules gave me one of his 'I know you so well I know exactly what you are thinking and I'm really sorry I reminded you of that' looks and, for a brief moment, I forgot that I was trying to be more like the noble hero Aethus had sung about and glared back at him. As usual, he ignored it. Getting mad at Herc was an exercise in futility most of the time.

"Do you think," said Pargos, interrupting our unspoken argument, "that Apollo might rescue Aethus himself?"

We both turned and stared at him.

"No." Pargos sighed. "I didn't think so."

"Apollo is probably angry," Hercules began but I interrupted him.

"Apollo is undoubtably pissed big time."

I got another look. This was the 'sometimes you can be a little too frank and why don't you at least try to be diplomatic' look. I gave him my 'bite me' look in return. I was ignored, again, and was ashamed, again. 

After making sure I wasn't about to open my mouth again, Hercules continued. "As I said, Apollo is angry but I don't think he'll make any overt move against Ares."

Pargos shook his head. "And Aethus, even if he has served Apollo since childhood, is just a mortal."

I didn't add, a mortal who Apollo is probably well aware didn't either like or respect the god properly. Singing voice aside, I doubted if Apollo liked Aethus any more than Aethus liked Apollo.

The night sky was clear, with a waxing moon. Our hosts arranged two spare hammocks for us. Pargos took one and I took the other. Even in our sailor days, Hercules rarely slept in a hammock. They just weren't designed to be comfortable for someone as big as he is. Instead, he lay on the deck directly beneath my hammock, since there wasn't room for him anywhere else, his head propped up on a piled net awaiting mending.

I lay on my back, my sword on my chest, staring at the stars. There was a constellation named Hercules. There wasn't one named Iolaus. 

"Herc?"

"What?"

Too many years together. I could tell when he was asleep or when he was awake, even if he was pretending to be sleeping. He could do the same for me. I kept my voice so soft that I doubted anyone but a half god, with his semi-divine senses, could have heard me. I know Pargos' snores didn't change rhythm.

"Are you mad at me?"

"For what?"

Uh-oh. If he had just answered 'no,' I would have been off the hook. His answer meant he was mad at me for something. I just had to figure out what. 

"For dragging you into this? Going after Aethus."

"No." His voice was firm. Which meant he was probably still mad at me for the woman who wasn't a virgin priestess of Artemis and, since he knew where to find me in Sicyon, probably mad at me for the widowed sisters, too. Why, with his family background, he should be upset at me for sharing myself with two sisters at once, was beyond me, but I knew he disapproved. Oh, well. Just another notch in our relationship.

I felt him move beneath me and his hand caught at the string of the hammock behind my head. A finger reached through and tugged a strand of my hair loose. He started to twist that curl around his finger, idly. So he wasn't really mad at me, just a little annoyed. And he wanted me to know that. I sighed and leaned back, letting those fingers brush against the back of my head. I stared up at the stars.

"What else is bothering you?" His soft voice sounded concerned. I liked his voice when it was deep and low like that. I wished I was lying beside him, my head on his chest, while he stroked my hair and I listened to his heartbeat.

We have been lovers, on and off, since we were old enough to figure out what to do with our dicks but there were strict rules to our relationship. Obviously, it wasn't an exclusive one. I liked women way too much to give them up and there were things I liked that Hercules didn't. The bond that Aethus sang of was unaffected by who we slept with when we weren't with each other. 

The other rule was, although I suspect everyone in Greece had a pretty good idea we fucked each other, we were always carefully circumspect in public. How much was theoretically to protect me from Herc's nastier enemies and how much was just because Herc is actually pretty shy when it comes to sex, I have never been sure. We never actually discussed it, we just live that way. This light touch of his, when there were three other people around us asleep and one awake but invisible at the tiller, was unusual for him. Normally, except for the occasional arm around the shoulder, Hercules never laid a hand on me where anyone else might see.

I was hard pressed to answer his question. Something was bothering me but I wasn't sure what it was myself.

"Iolaus?" His hand kept up its gentle stroking. I wondered if he knew how comforting and how arousing that felt. I took a deep breath.

"Aethus sang a song." Well, duh, Iolaus. Of course he did. That's what he does. "It was sort of about us."

"Ah." The fingers moved under the hair at the nape of my neck. "Didn't you like it?"

He was baiting me. I had half a mind to suddenly roll out of the hammock and drop on top of him to see if he was finding playing with my hair as exciting as I was finding it. But I knew he would be furious so I stayed where I was, moving my head a little to let him know how much I liked his touch.

"No. I liked it a lot." I picked at a loose spot in the wrappings around the hilt of my sword. "It just made me feel . . ."

The hand strayed down to massage between my shoulders. I hadn't realized how tense my back was until Hercules did that.

"What?"

I was uncomfortable. We aren't much for deep analysis of our feelings. I don't know any man who is. My voice dropped to such a weak whisper that I wasn't sure even Hercules could hear.

"Inadequate."

I could almost sense Hercules turning my answer over in his head. I realized I was gnawing on my thumbnail and stopped.

I started to speak again before he asked me a question I might not want to answer. "Aethus sang this song. . .Pargos wrote it. . .about these two heroes who were both so noble and so perfect. Inhumanly perfect. I was honored but at the the same time I thought. . .how can someone like me ever measure up to that?"

The hand was moving lower. "Someone like you?" Herc sounded amused. "Iolaus, you are the most amazing person I have ever known. You know that."

"Yeah, but I'm not perfect."

"Nobody is asking you to be."

"Yes, they are. Every bard or poet or singer or playwright who tells the story of the mortal companion of Hercules tells the story of a perfect man!" I was surprised by the anger in my voice. I thought I had liked the song when I heard. Now I wasn't so sure. "I feel as if. . .maybe the next person who meets me and thinks I'm like the character in the song will be. . .disappointed."

And, I didn't add, sometimes the person I disappoint is the big guy lying below me, his large hand rubbing a slow circle in the middle of my back.

"Iolaus, trust me. No who meets you is ever disappointed. Ask Pargos. Ask Aethus. I'm sure they'll tell you the real Iolaus is just as amazing as the fictional one."

Damn. I was hard and had tears in my eyes and all I could do was lie there and let Hercules' massage lull me to sleep.

"Disappointed." His snort reminded me of Pargos, sleeping so close to me that the foot of his hammock was hanging off the same post that held the head of mine. I knew that Hercules was shaking his head. "Ridiculous."

I sighed, shifting in my hammock, and closed my eyes, the warm hand in the middle of my back my comfort, lulling me to sleep.

The islands of Menekos aren't very far off the Greek mainland. By mid-morning, we were close enough to see one of the larger islands, one that was crowned at the top of a cliff by a large temple dedicated to the God of War. Pargos said there were two temples to Ares in the islands and that this was the largest. It was also in the territory claimed, last he had heard, by the younger son and his supporters. He thought they were the weaker of the claimants and might find Aethus an addition to their cause.

Our hosts graciously took us close to a beach below the temple and we waded ashore. As soon as we were on the beach, the temple looming above us, I stopped worrying about my dick and my ego and started worrying about my life.

Aethus sang about a man who probably never even considered the consequences when he leapt into action. I did. I've been hurt often enough and even died. I know, that sounds impossible but it's true. Long story but Hercules got me back. And I didn't die of natural causes, either.

Before a fight actually starts, I can be as terrified as the next man. Years of practice allow me to conceal the fear but, trust me, its there. Once I am in the middle of a fight, then the battle rush kicks in and every action becomes automatic. I almost stop thinking and I stop being afraid. Until then, I can hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears and my palms sweat. 

I was hoping there might be some handy caves inside the cliffs that lead to the temple but Pargos told me there weren't. We had to climb up a steep path, Pargos and I strapping our swords on our backs. We hadn't gotten very far when it started to rain. Not a heavy downpour that might have driven us to shelter and a postponement of our plans but a light mist, just enough to be chilling and make the path we were climbing slick. Even Herc lost his footing once and I nearly ended up with his boot in my face. Fortunately, I heard his surprised grunt when he started to slide and was able to brace myself and turn my head so all I did was provide a shoulder as a foothold.

He apologized, glancing down at me, asking without words if I was all right. My shoulder hurt and would probably be black and blue but, as battle injuries go, it was hardly worth mentioning. I nodded and we started climbing again.

We went slowly, partly because of the rain and partly because Pargos had twenty years on both us. He was in good shape, in spite of his age, but he wasn't up to keeping up with the son of Zeus. 

I found myself thinking as we climbed, since there wasn't anything to distract me. I hate to do that, think about my life, the whys and wherefores of it. If I really stop and think, I realize I must be insane to spend my life with Hercules. After all, it has gotten me killed already. I could have a nice home and maybe even a family again if I gave up my life at his side and at moments like that, when I was cold, wet, muddy and heading into a possible battle with the God of War, I found myself thinking I should get into another line of work.

Then again, I thought, as my foot slipped and my knee made painful contact with a stone, maybe Ares isn't here. Maybe he just grabbed Aethus, dumped him, and went off to cause trouble someplace else. I hadn't heard of any major wars so maybe Ares was off stirring one up a long, long way from Menekos.

Or maybe he was sitting on one of those gruesome thrones of his, one leg slung over the arm, watching us using his godly powers and planning just how he was going to pound on us.

"Iolaus." It was Herc's 'hello, time to pay attention' voice.

I looked up. Pargos was panting in the shelter of a high stone wall, Herc crouched next to him. I hauled myself up the last couple of feet and sat next to them, wiping my muddy hands on my once clean waistcoat. I'd have to visit the sisters again when this was over.

Pargos gave us the outline of the interior of the temple. He was an old soldier and knew it well. I'll give him this, he made no apologies for having spent his youth in the service of Ares. 

Herc stood up, interlacing his fingers to make a stirrup. I put my foot in it and let him boost me up until I could grab the top of the wall, grateful that it didn't have any spikes embedded in the top. I checked out the narrow courtyard on the other side. It was empty so I swung myself on top of the wall and reached down to give Pargos a hand up. We dropped to the inner side a moment before Hercules swung himself over.

I went first. My fear was gone. My self-indulgent thoughts and doubt were gone. I had my sword in my hand and everything was focused on rescuing Aethus and getting back out alive.

Only a few priests, who served as guards as much as leaders of worship, manned this temple. There were three sitting in what appeared to be their refectory, playing dice. We got past them with no problem. Two more tidying up a side room, chatting about some horse races they had attended. No problem.

The main room. I took a deep breath before peering through the doorway.

Black walls, red and black and gold banners on the wall, a couple of tapestries depicting battle scenes. A long black altar, two lamps flickering at either end, a pile of ornamental weapons offered as tribute in the middle. Behind the altar, a throne.

Most of the gods had statues of themselves in their temples. Ares did, although I hadn't seen one here, yet, but only Ares had thrones installed in all of his. He was a little more hands on then some gods. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe a god of war who didn't take his job so seriously would be an improvement. But Ares had thrones in his temples because he liked to put in personal appearances.

As thrones went, this one was pretty sedate. Black, of course, simply carved, with an image of the sword of war craved into the back and highlighted with blood red paint. No skulls or spikes sticking out of it. For Ares, it was in good taste.

We slipped into the room, me, Herc, Pargos bringing up the rear. Pargos, his sword held at ready, pointed towards the throne. There was a door hidden behind it that lead to an inner sanctum. In some temples, I knew Ares had a bedroom installed, for his mortal tribute. Pargos said this was just a smaller sanctuary, with a bust of Ares, an altar, and no throne. He thought Aethus might be held there.

So far, so good. And too easy. Herc and I exchanged a look that said, 'it can't be this simple. Something nasty has to happen soon.'

The door was there. Locked. No problem, when you have a man with the strength of ten in your party. Hercules just put his shoulder to it and pushed.

The inner room was lit by a hanging brazier. In one corner, sitting on the floor, was Aethus. When he saw us, he leapt to his feet and said, "What in Tartarus . . ."

Pargos silenced him with a gesture. Aethus, looking rumpled but unhurt, responded by holding out his hands. He was in manacles, chained to the secondary altar, a bust of Ares glowering above it. Hercules bent over to examine the chains.

"Do you know why I'm here?" Aethus hissed to his companion, who has come close to watch Hercules. I was guarding the door.

Pargos raised his eyebrows. "I assume something to do with Aethelus' succession."

Aethus looked surprised. "You're joking! What would I have to do with that?"

"I don't know." Pargos sounded annoyed. I almost laughed. These two reminded me of Herc and myself, communicating more without words than with, incapable of expressing our true feelings. I was sure Aethus was incredibly glad to see Pargos and the feeling was mutual but they gave no sign of it. 

"Ares didn't explain anything." He was chafing his wrists as Hercules set the broken manacles aside. Unlike me, I doubt if Aethus had ever been held in chains before. "He just grabbed me, brought me here, slapped on these chains and told me to behave myself!" His anger flashed in his dark eyes. "Arrogant prick."

"Ah," Hercules interrupted mildly, "I don't think you should insult him while we are in his temple."

"Good advice."

Oh, shit. I had looked away from the door and now Ares was standing in it, leaning against the frame, arms crossed in front of his chest, that damned cheerful grin on his face. Pargos had mentioned a trapdoor behind the altar in this room, although he wasn't sure if it was just a rumor or not. I had a feeling I'd be finding out soon.

"Ares." Herc was using his conciliatory tone, which surprised me. Usually, he just sounded mad when he encountered this half brother. 

I was sliding slowly along the wall, even though I knew Ares was aware of every movement I made. He was a god and I was just a poor, stupid mortal who insisted on getting in his way, instead of worshiping him, like a proper warrior. Maybe Hercules could keep his half brother's mind on him, not on me. God or not, Ares could be distracted. 

Yup. There was a wooden panel set into the stone floor just behind the altar. 

"Ares." That clear, tenor voice, trained to carry, spoke up angrily.

Oh, shit again. Aethus was actually trying to get into Ares' face. Maybe he did that with Apollo and got away with it but this was Ares, who wasn't known for his patience. Ares, however, just kept that silly grin on his face. All I could think was something was very, very wrong about this.

"I am under the protection of Apollo!"

As soon as Aethus said that, Pargos grabbed his arm, obviously trying to shut him up. It didn't appear to be working. I realized that Aethus was probably used to getting his way, unlike the rest of us. He was an artist, indulged and admired, and he bore the mark of Apollo on his cheek. Pity he was about to get fried.

"Like I care," said Ares, sounding, to my astonishment, as if he were amused by the situation. This was getting weirder and weirder. "Your ass is mine now, music boy." He raised one hand and I knew what was coming next.

The next few seconds were the usual chaos that makes up most of my life. Ares tossing a fireball, me throwing myself across a room to knock the intended target out of the way, getting a little scorched in the process. Good thing my hair was still wet. I rolled, a stunned Aethus held in my grasp. Pargos was ahead of me. He had the trapdoor open and helped me stuff a complaining Aethus through it. Then he slammed it shut behind me.

I was mad at that. I thought he should be escorting Aethus through this tight tunnel, not me, since it was his temple and Aethus was his charge. I should be back there at Herc's back. Oh, well. I still should do my part and get Aethus out of there.

We were in almost complete darkness but the floor sloped down and I thought I could hear, under the sound of Ares and Hercules having one of their brotherly moments, the sound of the sea. I shoved a swearing Aethus ahead of me.

"What the fuck is going on?" He sounded very aggrieved, with good reason. "Stop pushing, damn it. That bastard Ares is going to . . ."

Oops. The floor took a sudden, steeper turn. The soles of my boots were still wet. I slipped, ran into Aethus, and we were both sliding uncontrollably to whatever lay at the end of this tunnel.

I had a feeling, as we careened down the tunnel, that Aethus wouldn't be singing any more heroic songs about yours truly. We were tangled up in each other and he was swearing a blue streak.

I admit, I was impressed. I've been a sailor, a soldier and a blacksmith, all professions known as being excellent training grounds for the fine art of cursing. I had a decent turn of phrase or two myself that I used when the occasion demanded. Aethus had every sailor, every soldier, every smith I had ever met beat hands down. Maybe it was the poetic training, combined with the careful enunciation, but I had to admire his vulgarities as we tried to stop ourselves.

"Mother humping pus buckets," he snarled in my ear as I almost got us stopped before I discovered there were a couple of unexpected stairs beneath my foot and we were down again. "By Zeus' third ball, if you don't get your fucking elbow out of my ribs, you incestuous son of a whore, I'll. . ."

His threat was cut off, along with his obscenities, when we slammed into a very solid door at the end of the tunnel. 

We both lay there for a minute, panting, trying to get untangled in the dark. I had acquired a few more bruises on the way down and from the sound Aethus made as he tried to stand, he wasn't in any better shape. I tried to stand up and he let out a screech that reminded me he was castrated. 

"You're standing on my hair, you sheep fucking oaf!"

That was what I felt under my boot, the end of his braid. I lifted my foot and gave him a hand to help him to his feet.

"Now what?"

From the tone of his voice, I was definitely no longer on his list of people to sing nicely about. 

I started to run my hands over the door in front of me as I replied, in a somewhat less than friendly tone myself, "Try to get your sorry ass out of here."

A faint light showed around the door, indicating it lead directly outside. My eyes had adjusted and I quickly found the bolts that held it closed. I slid them open, then got a grip on my sword, which I had managed to hang on to, without killing either of us, on our way down. I pushed Aethus back a pace, expecting him to protest, but his common sense seemed to have kicked in.

I opened the door. We were at the top of a steep, narrow stair that hugged the base of the temple, leading into the scrub forest below. The wind, still wet with rain, blew in my face. Great. The stone steps were glistening with moisture and had no rail.

"How are you for heights?" I asked, leaning out and looking down.

"Fine." Aethus sounded better now. He leaned out the door next to me. "Hey, I know where we are." He leaned out a little further and craned his neck around. "I know that beach."

"We are in Menekos, you know." I curbed my temper, reminding myself that I chose to be in positions like this, escaping from temples with angry gods at my back. Aethus hadn't.

We moved cautiously down the stairs, keeping our backs to the wall. I was certain one of us was going to slip and fall to a certain death, but, to my surprise, we reached the bottom of the stairs intact.

"If you don't mind a suggestion," Aethus said, pushing loose strands of his wet hair out of his face, "I think I can find us shelter."

I made a grandiose gesture with my free hand, a wide sweep indicating he should lead the way. He bowed, sarcastically, if that was possible, and started through the brush. I followed, my sword still in hand. Even with the appearance of Ares, this whole thing still seemed too easy.

I was right. I'm not like Herc. He is always right. Always. Some half god thing. Me, I think I probably run under average, mostly because I have a tendency to act and then think. But this time, we were following a narrow track through the dripping pine and sodden grass, Aethus swearing continuously under his breath, when four of the temple guards came charging up behind us.

As soon as I heard them coming, I yelled at Aethus to run. I wasn't sure he would but he took one look at what was approaching and took off like a deer. Four guys against me. Pretty fair odds, if I do say so myself.

People are always underestimating me. I'm relatively small and don't wear armor, so when some big guy covered in hardened leather or metal comes after me, he generally assumes it will be an easy fight. Big guys in armor never seem to realize that speed, flexibility and sheer ingenuity count for more than just size and hardness. Which is really a commentary on more than fighting but I'll leave that for now. Suffice to say, I took the first two out with no difficulty, kicking one in the chest and knocking him into the man directly behind him. A couple of follow-up kicks and they were both down for the count.

The track was narrow, worn into the soil, so they two remaining guards had to come at me one at a time. Number three was a little more challenging. He had a long reach and had seen enough to know to stay back. I took a minor cut on one shoulder before I took him down.

Number four, unfortunately, had been watching closely. He seemed to be a notch above the usual hired thug. I was winded, wet and getting tired. He knew that and had made note of how I took out his compatriots. We feinted and dodged for some time before he got a good whack on the side of my head. I staggered, my vision spinning, my feet slipping in the mud. He closed in for the kill, making the last mistake a lot of my opponents made. I have a very hard head. 

I had dropped my sword but he didn't know about the knife I keep in my boot so as he bent over to finish me off, I stabbed him in the throat. I hate to have kill my opponents unless it is absolutely necessary but I just didn't have the energy left to try for a nonlethal stroke.

The guy staggered back, blood flying. I crawled away, wanting to make sure he didn't fall on me when he died. I've had that happen and it's damned annoying, to suddenly find yourself under the dead weight, pardon the pun, of your enemy. 

I wasn't in very good shape, bleeding, my sight double. I was having trouble walking when someone slipped their arm under mine.

"Aethus?"

"No, I'm one of Cupid's love slaves. Who else would it be?"

I had saved his miserable hide and wasn't as appreciative as he could have been. Still, I liked his attitude. Besides, I would be face down in the mud if not for his arm around my waist.

Groggy, I had no idea where we were going. Aethus kept us moving, stopping only to hold me up when I was sick. I was considering asking him to leave me to die somewhere when I realized I wasn't getting rained on anymore. Aethus had sat me down leaning against two walls. 

Moving my head very slowly, to avoid throwing up again, I studied my surroundings. We were in ruined building, three walls and part of the roof intact. Aethus was on his knees. As I watched him starting a fire, I decided that his training as a singer had more than one use. He could blow on the slightest spark for a lot longer than I could have. When he got a small fire going, he came over and looked at me.

"You're a mess," he observed, tearing off the bottom of his gold chiton. Only it wasn't gold anymore. Between the rain and the mud, his entire lovely concert costume was ruined.

"You don't look so hot, either."

He was checking me out closely. "I guess most of that blood isn't yours. He bound up my shoulder, which wasn't bleeding that much, then lifted up my hair to check the wound on my scalp. My opponent had gotten me with the pommel of his sword behind my left ear.

"Ow," I said, on general principles. He tore another strip of his pretty gold chiton and used that to dab away the blood. "Head wounds always bleed like mad," I told him. "It's probably not serious."

"No, probably not." He still tied a strip around my head. "Pargos says if you get hit on the head, the important thing is not to fall asleep. Is that true?"

I had to agree with him. I probably shouldn't sleep for while.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Remember when we talked about a place to call home." He gestured to the ruins around me. "This was it. A summer palace for some of the king's lesser concubines. The first wife, the Queen, got a fancier place over on another cove. Then some of the secondary wives had a palace below this one. My mother and a couple of others used to stay here. My mother didn't much like the main palace in capital because it put her too much under the eye of the Queen so she stayed here as much as she could."

For lack of anything else to say, I said, "Must have been nice." Actually, it looked like it might have been, overlooking the sea but protected from the worst of the weather by the cliffs above, although having one of Ares' temples looming overhead probably hadn't added to the atmosphere.

"It was." Aethus sighed. "Do you think Pargos and Hercules will be all right?"

"Herc? Sure. He and Ares go at each other all the time. Ares always gets bored after a few rounds and gives up." I grinned. "Although once in a while, Herc does manage to lay him out." 

"Huh? Imagine that. Still, can't Ares find me again? I mean, he is a god after all. I know Apollo always knew where I was."

I thought it over. Theoretically, Ares could find anyone he set his mind to but I knew Ares pretty well. He didn't like to be defeated or even set back a little. If he was behind in a war, he knew when a strategic retreat was in order. When it was personal, though, he got annoyed and gave up quickly. I sometimes wondered if he just had a sense that a battle well fought went to the victor, even if the victor was an enemy.

"You're not marked by Ares," I said, not adding that I probably was and had been since the first moment I picked up a weapon. "And I don't know if you are that important to his plans."

Aethus gave me an annoyed look. "If I wasn't important, why did he grab me in the first place? Fuck." He shook his head. "I still can't believe he thought I would add anything to Aethelus' claim. I gave up any rights I had when I was given to Apollo. I'm no warrior. . ." We exchanged tired grins at that remark. "No one would rally to my banner, or even consider my presence a help to someone else."

"Ares," I replied, fighting to keep my eyes open. Maybe that hit had been harder than I thought. "has a devious mind. He doesn't always make his true motives known."

"What god does?" Aethus poked another couple of sticks in the fire. I noticed it was getting dark and since it was only early afternoon, that was not a good sign for me. I didn't think it was the weather. I wondered where Herc was.

It took an effort to get my tongue working. "Do you think Pargos will know where you are?"

Something must have shown in my face because Aethus left the fire to peer closely at me. He put his hand under my chin and tipped my head back. The gentle movement made everything swim.

"If Pargos got away, this would be the first place he'd look. He used to be a guard here. I imagine he and Hercules will be here shortly."

"I hope so." Boy, did I. My whole body was starting to go numb.

"In that case," said a third voice. "I'd better get you out of here."

Ares. Standing next to the fire, big as life. At least he had lost the silly grin. He was even frowning a little as he looked at me. Aethus just glanced at him over his shoulder. Apollo had definitely let him get away with behavior that would have made him toast in Ares' retinue.

Aethus' voice was weary. "Go away, Ares. I can't help in your wars. Ask my brothers. Leave us alone."

I was preparing my speech for Hades, since I expected to be seeing him shortly. Instead of blasting both of us to ashes, Ares came over and squatted next to Aethus, leaning forward to look into my eyes. I could see three of him, fading away into blackness.

"This," I heard him say in a voice more like his own, "was not part of the bargain."

I had no idea what he was talking about but I no longer cared. The world faded slowly to black. I was glad I was dying in the winter time. Persephone made a visit to the Underworld much nicer, although if Herc didn't get here soon, I might be staying permanently this time.

I wasn't out for long. When I awoke, I was lying on a comfortable bed and neither my head nor my shoulder ached. I sat up, surprised to find myself feeling downright healthy. 

"Feeling better?" Aethus was still filthy and wet and looked unhappy as he sat on a padded bench across a narrow room from me.

"Um, yeah." I was wet and filthy but didn't have a mark on me, except for the bruise from Herc's big foot. "What happened?"

"Ares. And I thought Apollo was changeable."

The room we were in was warm and comfortable. In addition to the two beds, there was a table with a simple meal and a jug of wine. There were blankets, a well made chamber pot under each bed, and a window. If it weren't for the bars on the window, I would have thought I was staying at an inn. I looked out the window, testing the bars. Good construction and maintenance. Damn. Even if I had found a loose bar, the view was straight down a narrow ravine, with a tiny streak at the bottom I took to be a river.

"So, where are we or do you know?"

"In Ares' other temple, the northern one. Ares brought both of us here, healed you, and then told me to enjoy my visit." Aethus grimaced. "War gods aren't known for their wit, are they?"

I was so astonished it took me a second to respond. "Ares healed me? Ares? Tall guy, dark hair, all in black, big sword?"

Aethus didn't seem to think I was any wittier than Ares. He just made a face.

All right. The world had just taken a sharp turn and I was completely baffled. What in Tartarus was going on? If Aphrodite popped up and announced she was taking a vow of chastity, I wouldn't have been surprised. It would have just fit in with the rest.

Since I was now feeling fine, the confinement of the narrow room became instantly grating. I am not a patient person. The only reason I can keep up with Hercules is because I have such boundless energy that I drive everybody else crazy. I cannot sit still and wait any more than I can grow wings and fly. I made several circuits of our little prison, reexamining the tightly bolted door, the window, the objects in the room, until Aethus finally snapped.

"Sit down, damn it, you're making me dizzy."

I had been expecting that. Actually, he last longer than I expected. I really do get on people's nerves. So I sat, expending my efforts on the food Ares had provided. Coarse bread, dried fruit, a hunk of fresh cheese and watered new wine. I'm not a picky eater. If the food isn't rotten, I'll eat it and be happy. That's how I survived the years of my marriage. I know my wife was the worst cook in Greece but as long as there is plenty of food, I didn't much care about the quality.

Aethus put some cheese on a slice of bread, then sat morosely on his bed, picking at the food.

"Never been held captive before, have you?" I observed, my words indistinct around a mouthful of bread. I wasn't bothering with my decent table manners. Aethus didn't seem to care.

"No."

"Well, this isn't bad." I gestured with a handful of figs. "Clean, dry, well-lit, no chains, no rats, no poor slob moaning in the next cell. As prisons go, I give this one highest marks."

Aethus gave me a dark look in return, then sighed. I finished the rest of the food and sat back on my bed, cross-legged, and stared back at him.

"I suppose we could talk to pass the time," I said, trying to be pleasant. There were some questions I was dying to ask him but I refrained. "So, thought any further about your retirement plans?"

"No." 

So much for that idea. I was considering lying down and trying to sleep when Aethus said, "Go ahead. Ask."

I felt my face flush. I thought I had gotten past his having that effect on me. I tried to sound innocent, opening my eyes a little wider to give him my best dumb blonde look. It just made him smile.

"Go ahead and ask the question you want to ask. I don't mind. I know what every man thinks when he meets me and I know you are just as curious as the next man. Maybe even more so." He shifted positions, leaning forward. "Tell you what, I'll just give you the answers. Save you the effort of asking. It works."

"Huh?"

Aethus laughed. "Believe it or not, it works just like any other man's. It isn't that way for all eunuchs, mind you, but it is for me." He winked. "And there are advantages to taking a gelding to bed, especially if a woman has a jealous husband who might notice a bastard conceived while he is off at war."

I wanted to throw him a little off-balance so I changed the subject just a little. "But doesn't it bother you that you can never have children."

He looked right straight back at me, unperturbed. "No. Why should it? What's so great about having children?"

I shook my head. I had just made a mistake and entered into a conversation I was already regretting. War gods weren't the only ones a little thin on wits.

"Having children. . ." I took a deep breath, dredging up some very old, very painful memories. "Having children is wonderful. Holding your child is like holding love made solid."

Aethus response was to snort, rather like Pargos. But then his expression changed, I suspect in reaction to mine. "Maybe for some people but not for princes." He tilted his head back, resting it on the wall, fixing his gaze on the ceiling.

"My mother was a daughter of the Egyptian Pharaoh. They marry their sisters and have too many daughters so she was of little value. They gave her to a minor Greek king to seal a treaty. My mother was sent to my father's bed because the Pharaoh wanted to guarantee that he would get a regular supply of iron, copper and lead from the mines on the northern islands in exchange for wheat." 

That explained his dark eyes, with their upturned corners.

"I doubt if my father could have remembered my mother's name without some courtier prompting him. I was her only child but his twelfth son. I meant very little to either of them. Had I not be given to Apollo, I would have been used to seal a treaty myself, probably married off to a minor princess somewhere." His voice was distant.

"I remember the first time I actually met my father. I was seven or eight and went with my mother and the other concubines to my older brother's wedding. He was being married to a Macedonian princess he had never met, for political reasons. I sang at his wedding, the first time I sang for someone besides my mother's household. A man, all dressed in purple robes, came over, patted me on the head and told me I was a fine little singer, a credit to my family. It was only later, when my nurse put me to bed, that I found out the man in purple was my father."

"But suppose you met someone. . ."

"Iolaus." He said my name as if I were a particularly slow pupil. "If I hadn't been castrated, I'd be a prince, marrying for power, not for love, and I'd be in the middle of this stupid war of my brothers. For me, love was never a realistic option. Being a prince, in many ways, is a terrible fate."

I remembered my dead cousin, who looked so much like me, and was the crown prince of Attica when we first met. His wife hated him when they were married. Even later, after he had tried to win her love, she barely tolerated him. I knew other royalty who had been forced into marriages because of treaties. 

"Funny, isn't it," Aethus said, still staring at the ceiling, "how we imagine everyone else has a better life than ourselves. I'm sure there are peasants who wish they were royal. I know royals who wish they were peasants. Warriors who want to be singers." He gave me a quick glance. "Even singers who wonder what it would be like to be a warrior."

"Human nature," I replied. "Just like the horse who thinks the grass in the adjoining pasture, just beyond the fence, is better than what he has."

"Exactly. We all want everything. Power and money, love and honor. Problem is, every choice requires a sacrifice. I sometimes think, if I had been given a choice, would I have chosen differently? I love my music. Sometimes, when I'm really on, when I connect with my audience, it's better than sex. When I know what I'm singing is really touching people's hearts, I feel like a god. Would I have given that up for the power of a minor princeling?" He shook his head. "I don't think so."

I knew I wanted two things in my life. I wanted to be Hercules' partner and I wanted a home with a wife and children. I couldn't have both. I'd tried and had to give up my life with Hercules for my family. Hercules had tried, too, and even he, a half god, had failed. He was away from home so often he felt guilty. But if he stayed home to be with his family, he felt guilty about the others who depended on him. And if Herc couldn't do everything, what hope did mere mortals like Aethus or I have.

Aethus reached for the wine jug in my lap, nearly falling on the floor to do so. "Gods, this is a depressing conversation. Why don't you tell me another one of your stories?"

"So you can turn it into a song?"

I didn't want to sound bitter but I did. Aethus' eyes widened in surprise.

"Pargos said you'd be offended by the song. I thought you'd like it."

"I did like it. I just. . ." Not this discussion again. I wanted to go back to talking about his sex life. "It wasn't about me. It was about some impossibly heroic person whose name was similar to mine."

"Ah. You'd like it more accurate."

"Well, no." Definitely not. I have done some really, really stupid things and I don't want anyone singing about them.

"You'd rather no one told stories about you and Hercules."

"No." No, not that either. What did I want? I wanted to be the guy in the song.

To my surprise, Aethus got up off his bed and came over to sit on mine, sitting next to me. Maybe we would get back to the subject of his sex life. He leaned forward, his dark eyes intent on mine. I wondered if he was going to kiss me. I wondered if his breath control gave him other advantages besides singing and starting fires.

"You want to be the guy in the song."

This man really knew how to throw me off balance. I nodded, unable to speak.

"And I want to be the legendary Aethus, the singer who is practically worshipped himself. The singer who has brought tears to the eyes of the gods with his voice. I want to be perfect all the time, too. But I'm human. And you're human. And we just get used by the gods for their ends."

The drachma dropped. I knew why we were sitting in this cell in Ares temple. I knew why Ares had kidnapped Aethus. 

"Apollo set you up."

The change of topic made him blink and sit back. I guess he had been thinking about kissing me. 

"What?"

"That's why Ares grabbed you!" I can't sit still. I just can't. I was on my feet, pacing again. "This doesn't have anything to do with your brothers! This has to do with keeping you in Apollo's power."

Aethus' eyes narrowed. He knew what I meant. When he spoke, his voice was low and deadly. He might not be a warrior but I had a feeling, if he could get near Apollo with a knife dipped in hind's blood, there would be a vacancy in the Olympian pantheon.

"He was going to rescue me, wasn't he? Wait a few days, let me stew as Ares' captive, then show up and save my ass. After a few days chained in a prison cell, he figured I'd be grateful. Grateful enough to swear my loyalty to him for the rest of my life. The bastard! Zeus and Hera buggered by a Babylonian! Miserable sheep fucking bastard! "

Angry as Aethus was, I was still taking in his vulgarities. Where did he get these things? I almost suggested that he sign on with Apollo forever just to keep himself from getting fried when he used language like that. Say something like that without Apollo's mark on him and he'd be dead for sure. Nobody took Hera's name as a obscenity and lived to tell about it.

"Have you still got your knife?" Aethus was reaching for my boot. I didn't have my sword but I did have the small knife in my boot. I'm surprised Ares let me keep it but maybe he didn't care since he knew that Apollo would be popping in shortly.

"Um, yeah." I pulled the knife out cautiously. Was Aethus planning on sending himself to Hades to avoid Apollo. I didn't think that was the solution.

He snatched it from me and started sawing on his braid. I almost laughed. "Here, let me." From the look of determination on his face, that braid really must mean something to him.

I knelt behind him on the bed and started cutting through the thick hair. When I got the main bulk of the braid cut free, I handed it to him, then went back to cutting more hair to make it even. I wasn't a barber but his hair didn't look too bad when I finished. I sat back on my heels. 

Aethus took the braid and tossed it out the window, watching it fall. Then he came and sat next to me. He looked, younger, somehow, with his hair cut short, even if what was left was streaked with grey.

"Well," he said, grinning suddenly, "It's something." He shook his head, sending his straight hair flying.

"It's a start," I agreed, slipping my knife back into its sheath.

"Now for the rest."

I should have known what he was going to do. I should have slapped my hand over his mouth while I had the chance. He was used to be indulged by gods, not punished by them.

"Ares!" He threw his head back and hollered, only his yelling was musical and loud, in the small, stone-walled space. I tried to interrupt him but he shoved me back on the bed, still grinning a little insanely.

"Ares! You goat-loving, half-witted, shit-for-brains, dickless excuse for a god! Show me your sorry ass!"

I almost dived under the bed. I thought traveling with Herc was dangerous. I wondered how Pargos had survived to be an old man with Aethus as his charge. 

There was a blue flash and Ares was standing, eyes narrowed, one hand on the hilt of the Sword of War, in front of the window.

Aethus stalked over to Ares. He bent his head back to look up at Ares, although Ares wasn't much taller than the singer.

"We have to talk."

That's what he said, calmly and rationally, as if conversations with the God of War was a normal part of his day. I really had expected Ares to turn him to toast without even showing up so I was stunned when Ares just nodded, threw his arm around Aethus' shoulder and vanished.

"Ares!" I didn't have the nerve to use the language Aethus did. "Aethus! Ares!"

No answer. I was an ordinary mortal, no god's mark on my face. Even if my best friend was the son of Zeus, I was just me. I sagged back on the bed.

I don't know how long I sat there. The sun was setting when Ares showed up. When I woke up, it was dark, the window just a lighter patch of dark. The moon wasn't up yet. I was lying awkwardly on the bed, my neck cramped from having fallen asleep with it sharply bent. I winced as I straightened. My legs were asleep, too, tingling painfully.

"Iolaus?"

A harsh whisper. My heart jumped, the way it always does when I hear him say my name. I staggered to where I thought the door was.

"Herc?"

"Stand back."

There was a crunching sound and Hercules opened the door, a lantern flickering on the floor behind him. 

I nearly hugged him. I didn't though. Pargos might be there. And we were in Ares' temple and I knew he was in residence.

His expression was his worried, why don't you stay at home where I know you're safe, one. I loved it. 

"Are you all right?" Herc picked up the lantern, holding it so he could examine me.

"I'm fine but we need to find Aethus. Where's Pargos?"

"He stayed behind to talk to some of Aethus' brothers to find out if they were behind Ares' actions. He told where this temple was." Translation--I left Pargos behind because I wasn't patient enough to wait for an older mortal to keep up with me. "Iolaus, this doesn't make sense. Does Ares not care which side he supports in this war? He usually chooses a side. This temple is in territory that belongs to another faction."

I almost laughed. I know I gave him a big, idiotic grin. I can count the number of times I have figured something out before Herc did. I was going to enjoy this.

"This has nothing to do with the civil war." As I explained, Hercules got that tight-lipped, my family have no regard for the mortals under their supposed protection, look. When I got the part about Aethus calling for Ares to confront him, Herc got a new look on his face. A look of utter astonishment. Like me, he couldn't believe Aethus was crazy enough to call Ares names.

"He's used to being treated nicely by the gods," I reminded Herc as I followed him up the stairs, away from my cell. "I don't think he really knows how nasty they can be."

"Yeah, but he sings about battles. Surely he understands that Ares can be cruel."

I shrugged. Aethus did live a life far removed from mine. Did I envy him his? The praise of the crowds, the comfortable accommodations, the adulation? Maybe. But he implied he envied my life.

"He has a whole different experience with the gods, Herc."

Pargos had given Hercules a map of this temple,too. He lead us unerringly to the main sanctuary but we could have found it blindfolded. Even before we reached the doors, we could hear the singing. One voice had to be Aethus. It was soaring up in the soprano range, describing the edge of a sword catching the sunlight. The second voice had me confused. A full, rich baritone was singing the harmony to the lyric.

Ares?

I asked the question of Herc without words. He shrugged, saying, also without speaking, well, Ares is a god and gods are supposed to be pretty much perfect physical specimens so I guess it makes sense that Ares can sing.

We opened the doors. Ares and Aethus were standing side by side in front of one of Ares' thrones, a nasty one with skulls all over it. And, yes, they were singing.

Damn. It was a heck of a concert. Herc and I came inside. Neither of the two singers acknowledged us. They just kept going. If I thought Aethus singing at the amphitheatre had been impressive, I was wrong. This was incredible. For one thing, the acoustics in the throne room were excellent, even better than my seat in the theater. Hercules and I just walked around the outside edge of the room until we were facing the throne, then sat down on the floor and listened.

For another thing, Aethus finally found a singing partner who could do justice to his voice. I can truly say that Aethus the Menekotian had a voice fit for the gods. He and Ares sounded great. They must have sung non-stop for an hour, working through several songs about great battles and noble, fallen warriors. Both Herc and I were in tears when they finished a song about a battle in the Trojan war we had fought in.

Then Aethus started singing another one of his rude songs, this one about the sexual preferences of Zeus. I was prepared to duck but if the King of the Gods was listening, he must have liked the sound so much he ignored the insult. Ares had such a huge grin on his face when he got to the verse about Zeus as the shower of gold that I thought even his godly cheeks must ache.

Aethus was doing tricks with his voice, sending it up and down the scale so fast I was breathless. Even Ares seemed a little hard-pressed to keep up, but that might be because he was still smiling so broadly. They did a big finish, arms around each others shoulders, holding the last note until Ares--not the mortal, the god--had to draw a breath. Then they collapsed against each other laughing like fiends.

I had the sudden suspicion that I was going to die in the next few seconds because I had just seen everything.

When they recovered, Ares actually having to wipe tears from his eyes, they both looked over at Herc and I as we sat there. We must have both looked as dumbfounded as I felt because Ares started to laugh again.

"Great voice, huh?" the big, bad God of War said, still smiling, although I wasn't sure whose voice he was referring to. He waved his hand and the middle of the chamber was filled with a table covered with food and drink, four comfortable chairs set around it. One of them was bigger than the others. Ares dropped into it, gesturing to the rest of us to join him.

"You or Aethus?" Hercules was trying to go along with this but it was obvious he was baffled by his half brother's behavior.

"Both!" Ares poured a round of drinks. "To Aethus, the finest mortal singer I have ever heard."

Aethus laughed as he raised his glass in a toast. I realized, just before I swallowed, that Aethus now had second mark on his cheek. The sun of Apollo was still on his right cheekbone but on the other side of his face, below his left eye, was the black sword of Ares. At the sight of that mark, I started to choke and Herc had to whack me on the back a few times.

Ares caught my eye as I recovered. "Apollo will be so pissed."

Herc saw the mark, too. "Can you do that? Claim Aethus while he still belongs to Apollo?"

"No." Ares' grin was infectious. "But that hasn't stopped me."

Okay, now I had seen everything. Hercules and Ares were actually sitting at the same table and smiling at each other. 

While they smiled at each other, probably as astonished as I was, I decided to take advantage of the food. Ares only needed ambrosia and the nectar of the gods to stay alive but he seemed to like mortal food. And when a god cooks, he cooks good. I actually said that, around a mouthful of the best roast lamb I have ever eaten. I was so caught up in the whole bizarre moment that I said, to Ares, "This is delicious. You're a great cook."

Ares threw his head back and laughed again. Hercules, shaking his head as he ate, said, "I don't think this counts as cooking."

"No?" Ares winked. "I wasn't in the kitchen but I still had to make it. Trust me, if you were eating at, say, 'Dite's table, the food wouldn't be as good."

"Really?" Aethus was making a serious dent in the pile of honey cakes with dates and figs. I hoped he left some for me. "When I performed for her, she gave me this wonderful stuff, what did she call it, chocolate. "

"Yeah, but she pretty much only does sweets." Ares' perfect white teeth were doing damage to another leg of lamb at his end of the table. "Man could starve to death at her table."

Aethus nudged Ares in the ribs. Even Herc choked at that. "Yeah, but what a way to go."

I managed to grab a honey cake and stuff it in my mouth just as the air tingled and burned gold. Apollo.

He was still in his impressive appearance. Except for Aphrodite, all the gods I know sometimes take on different physical bodies. I've seen a couple of versions of Artemis, more than one Zeus, several Apollos, even an alternate version of Ares. Gods are damned confusing. Apollo was looking mature and stern tonight.

"Brother!" Ares held up his cup in toast. Ares made a pretty decent vintage of wine, too. "Join us!"

I could almost picture smoke coming out of Apollo's ears. It was bad enough that Ares had stuck his mark on a mortal pledged to Apollo but Herc and I being there just added insult to injury. He was seriously, seriously pissed.

"Aethus," snarled Apollo, "is mine."

Aethus stood up. Hercules looked startled but he hadn't been around the singer as much as I had. I knew Aethus would get right back in Apollo's face. Ares knew it, too. He gave me a conspiratorial grin that seemed to say, 'this is going to be fun.'

"I was yours for twenty-five years. I am not yours anymore. Simple as that."

"You still bear my mark!"

"Only because you arranged this kidnapping." Aethus had to be an actor as well as a singer and he was getting into the roll. He sounded very stern and fierce. "I served you, Apollo, proving the glory of music to all who heard me but I am free now."

I was hoping that if fireballs started flying, I could duck behind Ares for shelter. Herc's fingers were curling tightly around the arms of his chair. I knew he wanted to leap up and whomp on someone but had no idea who deserved the beating more. Probably Aethus but pounding him into the ground wouldn't be very satisfying.

"But Aethus. . ." Apollo was whining. This was turning into quite a day. Dinner with Ares and Apollo being defeated. "You are so glorious!"

Aethus looked sad. "Your words are kind, my lord Apollo." 

Ares made a face.

"And I am grateful for your gifts. I know that very few have ever been as blessed as I. But I am a mortal and my life is short. More of it lies behind me than ahead and all I ask is my freedom to live that life as I please. I will always be in your debt, for you gave me my voice."

And whacked your balls off to preserve it, I thought. Ares gave me a look that reminded me that gods can read our thoughts. I hoped Apollo was reading mine.

Apollo looked unhappy. Not angry, merely sad. "But. . ."

Aethus laid his hand gently on the arm of his former patron. "I will always honor you, lord Apollo, because music is the gift you gave me. I merely want to live my life. I am tired of traveling, of giving concerts to audiences that are often there because the concert is a social occasion, not because they appreciate music. I'm tired of critics and badly conducted orchestras and having to sing because it's expected of me, not because I want to. If I keep serving you, singing for you, I'll come to hate my music and my voice. Surely you don't want that?"

Aethus was nobody's fool. Apollo sighed, shaking his head. "He's a real pain in the ass," the god said to his half brother. "No respect."

Ares nodded. "I noticed."

Lifting his hand, Apollo laid it against Aethus' cheek. They looked at each other. I was reminded of fathers and sons, who love each other but have lost the ability to express that love. Apollo pressed his lips to Aethus' forehead, murmuring words only for the singer to hear. Then he stepped back, squared his shoulders, and vanished.

The golden mark was gone. Aethus touched the spot where it had been.

"Well," said Hercules into the silence, "that turned out better than I expected."

Aethus looked over at Hercules. "I meant it," he said softly, "when I said I was tired. Apollo knew that. Even if you love something, doing it on command becomes exhausting."

I thought of a remark having to do with prostitutes but had enough sense not to say it out loud. Ares must have gotten it, though, because he gave me a funny look, then winked.

"So," I said, sneaking another honey cake, "What happens now?"

Aethus shrugged. "Up to my patron, I guess. Tell me, lord Ares, what is your command."

Ares, who tossing grapes up in the air and catching them in his mouth, took a moment to respond. "I have no idea." He gave Aethus a hard, assessing look. "Can't really see keeping you around any of my temples."

"No." Aethus sat down again, pouring himself more wine. "Say, where is Pargos?"

Before Hercules had a chance to explain that Pargos had been left behind, Ares waved his hand. A startled Pargos staggered a couple of steps forward. When he saw where he was, he dropped to one knee, bowing his head.

"My lord."

Ares smirked in my general direction. I got the message but we both knew it would never happen. 

"Pargos."

The old soldier stood up at Ares' command. He glanced quickly around the room, his eyebrows going up at the sight of Aethus.

"Aethus here," Ares gestured with a bunch of grapes, "is under my protection now."

Pargos said nothing but "Oh, really?"

"Really. But he doesn't fit into the general staff of my temples."

Pargos allowed his lip to twitch. "No, my lord. And it isn't just his physical attributes that set him apart."

"No." Ares frowned. "If you ever use the language about me you did earlier, I will fry you like an egg."

Pargos gave Aethus another look. The singer tried to look innocent but his companion sighed. It was obvious Pargos could imagine the language all too clearly.

"Anyway, I figure you can keep an eye on him while he decides to do whatever he wants."

Pargos sighed. "As you command, my lord."

Ares stood up, straightening his tunic. "I've got a war I have to see to in Thrace. Aethus."

"My lord?"

That surprised me. Aethus sounded genuinely respectful. Even Pargos looked startled by Aethus' response.

"I would like to know the terms of our arrangement."

"Here's the deal. When I want you, I summon you. Other than that, you can do what you want, provided you never talk about me the way you talked about Apollo."

"I think I can manage that."

Ares bared his teeth in an expression that resembled a smile but couldn't really be considered one. "Good. Oh, one other thing. Do you want your balls back?"

Aethus blinked. "What?"

"I'm a god, remember. I can give you your manhood back, if you want it."

Aethus shook his head. "I think you know better than that, my lord Ares." He looked over at Herc and I. "He's making the offer to show you how sincere he is, to prove he really will be nice to me, but he knows I'd never take him up on it."

"Why not?" I burst out, feeling my face flush as I spoke.

"Why should I? I told you, Iolaus. I've come to terms with my life. I don't want children. I don't want to have to shave in the morning." He smiled, sadly, and I realized he thought I was a bit thick. "I don't want to lose my voice." He turned back to Ares. "I appreciate the offer, my lord, but I don't define my manhood in quite such narrow terms. I'm happy the way I am."

Ares was studying Aethus, his head slightly tilted to one side. Like Ares, I couldn't imagine living the way Aethus did.

"As you wish," the god said. "Pargos, good luck with him. He'll probably be even more trouble now that he's free."

Pargos said, his voice accepting of his fate. "No doubt, my lord."

Ares vanished in a flash of blue light. We stared at each other for a moment, before Aethus said, "Pargos, have you eaten? Ares left us this delightful meal."

So we sat there and ate and talked. Pargos had a brother living in Actium. Aethus agreed that it seemed as good a place to go as any. It seemed Aethus had been well-paid during his years serving Apollo and he had been allowed to keep some of it. 

"Maybe I'll open a music school or something," he said.

"How about a school for cursing." was my suggestion. We all laughed at that, even Hercules. 

***

A few days later, after we had parted from Pargos and Aethus, with promises to visit them in Actium some time to hear the new songs they planned to compose about our adventures, Herc and I were walking along the road, heading no where in particular. I started to sing, the song about the ten virgins, the goat herd and the ram. I had barely gotten a phrase out when Hercules stopped me. I assumed he was offended by the lyrics and was surprised when he said, in a puzzled voice, "Since when do you know how to sing."

"Since Aethus taught me," I replied, grinning. I loved the stunned look on his face.

"Wow. I didn't realize he was a miracle worker."

I threw a punch at Herc and started to sing again. I had only gone a few paces when I stopped.

"What? I was enjoying that."

"I'm sorry."

Hercules frowned. "For what?"

"I don't know. For not being as good as the man Aethus sang about. "

Hercules laughed and pulled me into a tight embrace. That surprised me. He wasn't given to physical affection towards me, especially on a public road, although there wasn't anyone in sight.

"You're the best," he said gruffly, planting a kiss on the top of my head. Then he pushed me away. "Now, could you please use that lovely new voice of yours to sing something less vulgar."

I considered "Oh, Glorious Phoebus Apollo," but decided that was pushing my luck. So I settled for a nice song about how pretty the scenery is in Greece.

November 2000


End file.
